


have you ever been in love?

by sapphirestylan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, guest appearances by the other three members of one direction lmao, they have zero (0) lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirestylan/pseuds/sapphirestylan
Summary: “You’re not gonna answer me?” Harry asks, finally, and Niall turns off the tap, his skin stinging instantly. He still doesn’t reply. Instead, he shuffles over to the hand dryer and sticks his hands in, waits for the machine to power up before opening his mouth.“Answer what?”“Who’ve you been in love with?”





	have you ever been in love?

**Author's Note:**

> A sleep deprived me wrote this at 2 am after watching too many old interviews, coming across the 'we fit' one, and getting inspired. Please forgive any grammar/spelling mistakes.

Harry’s eyes are unbearably green in the fluorescent lighting, his mouth parted slightly as he waits for Niall’s response. Niall doesn’t speak, just twists the tap on. The water is scalding hot, and he knows his skin will be tinged red afterwards, but he doesn’t adjust it. The pain is helping ground him, anyways.

Ten seconds of silence pass. Twenty five. Forty six. Niall just keeps scrubbing at his hands, watching the soap suds bubble in the drain.

“You’re not gonna answer me?” Harry asks, finally, and Niall turns off the tap, his skin stinging instantly. He still doesn’t reply. Instead, he shuffles over to the hand dryer and sticks his hands in, waits for the machine to power up before opening his mouth.

“Answer what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, moving closer and jutting his hip out against the counter. The toilets are empty save for the two of them and the overly harsh lights above, the light chatter of the crew barely reaching them inside. The interview had just finished when Niall had excused himself to use the loo, his hands slick with sweat. He could tell from the moment Harry’s gaze landed on him that Harry knew what was up, knew that something was bothering him. He also knew that Harry would excuse himself as well, would tag along and hound him till he opened up.

“Who’ve you been in love with?” Harry echoes his words from a minute earlier, from when Niall was in one of the stalls doing his business and Harry, ever-oblivious, was sat up on the counter and swinging his feet back and forth. Niall could see him doing it from the sliver of space between the door and the wall. “You’ve never told me you’ve been in love before.”

Niall shakes his head minutely, regretting with his entire being that he flipped that damn paddle when Kent asked if they’d ever been in love, regrets not just keeping his mouth shut- because he knew, even then (or he should’ve known) that Harry would notice, would be intrigued, would interrogate him because while Niall’s certainly been infatuated, certainly liked the people he’s dated very much, he would never say he was in love.

But Harry’s different. He knows he’s in love with Harry just the same as he knows right from left and up from down. He knows his urge to kiss his dimples and his need to have an arm around him at all times isn’t platonic by any means. He’s come to terms with it.

But he’s not dating Harry, no, has never ever revealed to anyone even an inkling of his feelings for him. Because that would fuck up the band, wouldn’t it? Would fuck up their friendship, their dynamic, and hell will freeze before Niall loses Harry just because he couldn’t keep his messy emotions to himself.

It’s so difficult, though, when things like this happen. When they can’t sleep and Harry crawls into his bunk, sleepy and incoherent, asking to be cuddled. When they’re having one of their heart-to-hearts, when the topics get more personal, when Harry’s looking at him with those eyes- it gets so hard not to say those words. _I’m in love with you._

_Don’t love you as a brother, don’t love you as a friend, though you’re all those things to me and more._

_I’m_ in love _with you._

And it’s not like he can demand Harry to explain who _he’s_ apparently been in love with, in retaliation, because of course he knows Harry’s been in love, of course he remembers the hours he spent whispering to him at night about Taylor this and Nick that.

Niall mirrors Harry’s position, the corner of the countertop digging into his hip. He crosses his arms over his chest, like that will help, and finally raises his head to meet Harry’s gaze. Harry’s suspiciously rigid; his fingers keep twitching like he wants to mess around with his hair like he does so often, or scratch his nose or play with his rings- and it occurs to Niall suddenly that maybe he’s doing it on purpose, because Niall can recognize all of his tells so well that he’ll be able to know what’s going through Harry’s mind. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Harry’s trying to hide the fact that he’s nervous.

He knows better, though.

“No, I’ve never told you. So?”

Harry’s impassive face drops to a frown, and Niall has the strangest urge to kiss away the little crease between his brows. “You tell me everything, though,” He complains, pouting. “Why wouldn’t you tell me this?”

Niall drops his eyes, uncomfortable. Harry has a habit of looking people straight in the eyes when he talks to them, and it feels, more often than not, like he’s reading their soul or something. Reading what they’re thinking. He doesn’t like that feeling, and especially not now.

“Can’t, H. Sorry.”

“But why not?” Harry presses, impatience creeping onto his face. “Why can’t you?”

“I just can’t.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Because I’m curious."

“Well, too bad. I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to!”

“Why wouldn’t you want to tell me?”

“Because-” Niall hesitates, his heart skipping at least three beats. He can feel the blood pounding in his ears, his rib cage squeezing tighter and tighter around his lungs with every breath.

Harry looks like he’s holding on to his every word, his eyes big and green and curious. “Because?”

“I don’t need to explain to you, Harry.” Niall mumbles, his entire body burning up. “I just don’t want to tell you, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Harry says after a pause, the sound ringing in Niall’s ears. He sounds defeated, and somehow that’s worse than him prying. “Okay.”

Niall ducks his head, brow furrowed, his skin stretched too tight over his bones. It’s gotten awkward now, something he never thought any silence would be with Harry, and he needs to escape this bloody toilet so badly. He needs to leave before he says something, does something stupid.

He never does get the chance to, because suddenly Harry’s taking his face in his giant hands and tilting it up, leaning down and kissing him and Niall’s mind just goes blank. Everything goes silent except for the rush of blood in his ears, and Harry’s hands are blindingly hot against his skin, his lips warm and sweet and-

Harry pulls away abruptly, his face pulled into a deep frown. “Sorry,” He says, his voice low and rough, and Niall’s eyes drop down to his spit-slick lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Why,” Niall says, his voice at least half an octave higher than usual, “Why did you- what was that for?”

His heart is pounding insistently, so desperate to get to Harry’s, blocked by flesh and bone, skin and clothing, and all of Niall’s doubts and insecurities and failure to understand what’s going on inside that pretty head of Harry’s.

Because he just doesn’t understand.

“I-” Harry breaks off, his eyes falling. His brows are knit together, worry edging his words as he speaks. “If you’re in love with someone else,” He whispers, “I just wanted- at least once.”

Niall takes in a ragged breath, shock numbing his fingertips as he watches Harry pull away from him, hands slipping down to his sides, resignation taking its place in his eyes.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable." Harry continues. Niall's voice doesn't seem to work. "I’ve fucked it up, haven’t I? I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have done that.” He mutters, taking a step back, his eyes still on the two grimy feet of tile on the floor between them. “I’m sorry."

“Harry-”

But Harry whirls around, not waiting for Niall to speak, and the next thing he knows Harry’s left and there’s nothing but the swinging door to show that he’s been there at all. Niall is left in shock, Harry’s taste still fresh on his lips and the ghost of his hands still on Niall’s jaw, the phantom pressure unbearable.

_I just wanted- at least once._

 

\---

 

Harry asked to ride in a different car than Niall.

Niall had searched for him, asked around, trying to figure out where he went, only to discover that he’d left in a separate car back to the hotel earlier than scheduled. He and Niall were supposed to go together.

They’re not, anymore, and Niall spends most of the ride staring out the window, foot tapping nervously, chewing his nails raw with all the nervous energy packed inside him. The sooner he gets to Harry, the sooner they can sort this mess out, the sooner he can get the load off his chest that’s been there for longer than he realized.

And the two of them are idiots, really, going around in circles; how long has Harry had feelings for him? How could Niall never tell, how could _Harry_ never figure it out?

No one answers when Niall knocks on Harry’s door, so he tries Zayn’s next, then Liam’s- and eventually finds all of them in Louis’, whose door is open. Unlocked. It’s a security hazard, is what it is.  

Zayn is snoring soundly on the bed, his shoes still on. Louis and Liam are otherwise occupied in a intense-looking game of FIFA, and Harry is sitting on the bed next to Zayn with his legs crossed in front of him and an expressionless mask on his face. Scratch that- not so expressionless after all, because when he turns his head to look at who’s entered the room, Niall can see the faint rim of red around his eyes and the telltale puffiness.

Niall inches gingerly towards the four of them, three of which have yet to notice his presence. “Harry?” He tries, voice quiet so as not to attract Louis and Liam’s attention. “You alright?” It’s a dumb question. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Harry mutters, his eyes very deliberately not meeting Niall’s. “Do you need anything?”

Niall watches him for a long moment. “Yeah, actually. Could we talk?”

Harry blinks up at him. “Okay.”

Niall steps back as Harry slides off the bed, pushing past him towards the door while running a hand through his hair. It’s gone all fluffy again, more of the frazzled mess Niall recognizes rather than the perfectly done up style Lou somehow manages to achieve.

Harry leads the way down the hallway to Niall’s room, and hovers behind him while Niall fishes in his pockets for the key. He can feel Harry’s eyes on the back of his head, feel the heat radiating off him. The door opens with a soft click, and Niall steps in the dark coolness of the room, Harry following suit and flicking on the lights.

Harry’s face has gone back to that blank mask, and it pains Niall to know it’s because he’s making an attempt to protect his feelings from him.

“What did you want to talk about?” Harry moves towards the bed, sitting on the edge of it. He keeps twisting one of his rings round and round, the metal catching the light.

Niall rolls his eyes. “What do you think? Can you think of anything possibly life-altering that’s occurred within the past few hours?”

“Look, Niall,” Harry begins lowly, “I don’t need you to give the whole letting me down easy talk, alright? I get it. It’s not a big deal, it’s not- it’s just...a thing.”

A thing.

“Harry, I’m not trying to-”

“Forget it, Niall.” Harry cuts him off abruptly, his eyes flickering down to his feet again. “Please? Just- try and forget any of this happened.”

“No,” Niall says, a bit incredulously, because forgetting what happened is much the opposite of what he aims to do. Harry’s gaze snaps up to his, confused, and Niall would laugh at the look on his face if the situation didn’t feel like literal life and death. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Harry’s frown only grows, his eyes narrowing, and maybe he thinks this is a joke, maybe he thinks Niall is messing with him.

And, well. They can’t have that, can they?

Where the first kiss left Niall’s mind blank, this one sends his senses into overload. He picks up on the surprised little _mmph_ that Harry lets out when Niall’s lips press against his, on the way he stiffens and then melts into it, on the electricity that sparks along his skin when Harry finally puts his hands on his waist. Harry’s knees spread apart easily, and Niall steps into the space between them, his heart rabbiting away in his chest so loudly he’d be surprised if Harry couldn’t hear it. He can smell Harry’s floral shampoo and his stupid Tom Ford cologne, can taste the bitter coffee on his tongue and the strawberries he ate for breakfast.

Harry’s burning him up from the inside out, and it’s an indescribable feeling he never wants to let go of.

He pulls away for a breath of air, only for Harry to reel him back in, a wide grin splitting his face, and he tugs at Niall’s waist till he collapses on top of him and both of them are laying flat on the bed, bodies pressed flush together. Harry doesn’t give him the chance to speak, just pushes Niall’s hair away from his face with gentle fingers and then pulls him in for another kiss, and then another, each one sweeter than the last.

 

\---

 

Later, when the stars have come out and the two of them are sweaty and happy and tangled between the sheets, Harry will ask Niall when he first knew he was in love with him. Niall will say he doesn’t know, that maybe he always was and just didn’t know it. Harry will kiss him again and tell him he loves him again and Niall will ask for him to say it just once more- again. Because hearing those three words fall from Harry’s lips only cements the fact in his mind that no, he’s never letting go of this.

  
_Ever._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


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